


One Thing I Don't Know

by andibeth82, geckoholic



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Talking, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82, https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If she knows him at all, she knows that Clint’s probably bailing right this second, and she isn’t quite cruel enough to leave Kate to spend the night tossing and turning while she wonders what the fuck is wrong with her boyfriend.</em>
</p><p>Clint has ISSUES. Plural. All caps. No one knows that better than Bobbi, and after the Hawkeyes started dating, Bobbi decides it's time to clue Kate in as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thing I Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> One of the first things I showed Andi in the process of dragging her down the Hawkeye Squared rabbit hole with me was a post about Bobbi taking Kate aside and giving her a primer about Clint's issues. I can't retrace just how and why, but recently we talked about that again, and then we both kinda tripped, and now there is fic. Team-written fic. We're now making y'all sad _together_. Fear us, fandom. _Fear us._ Muahahaha. 
> 
> Beta-read by scribblemyname. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are ours.
> 
> Title is from "In The End" by Linkin Park.

As far as avenging goes, having some random-ass wannabe villain flood half of New York has been a surprisingly exhausting gig. Exhausting enough, actually, to warrant one of Natasha's infamous after-work parties. 

They're not really parties, as such: more like all of them getting together and licking their wounds in silence, but they do involve a shower and some dressing up, a bit of makeup for the ladies, and a buffet consisting entirely of takeout food. And it's effective, to brush yourself up a little and socialize when you're groggy and sore but still riding an adrenaline high. This won't go on for long, an hour or two, and then they'll each go home and sleep until noon. 

Bobbi has snatched herself a plastic cup full of spiked Coca-Cola and shoveled sufficient amounts of Thai food onto her plate, and now she's on the hunt for a place to sit down and polish it off. The place is crowded – the gig required all hands on deck – and she has to wrench herself between Carol and Steve, smiling apologetically at the Captains. 

“Sorry,” she says, holding up her plate, and both of them shift to make room. She's just about to dig in when she hears the first few notes of _Right Here Waiting_ blaring out of the speakers. And see, it's not like she dislikes that song. She's rather fond of it, actually. But someone she knows, cares for, and yeah, kinda still loves, really _really_ isn't. 

Bobbi sighs and sets her plate down, ignoring the inquiring glance from Carol. She pushes her way through the crowd, more elbow involved than she'd normally employ, all the while trying to scan the room for Clint and Kate – because, yes, these days, that's a package deal. She finds them by the bar, and sure enough, he's heard it too. Their eyes meet as he stands there, rooted to the spot, and when he puts two and two together he gives her a grateful little nod. As Bobbi reaches the CD player and skips to the next song, Kate catches on; her eyes wander from Clint to Bobbi and then back, question marks written all over her face. Clint shakes his head and kisses her, a diversion tactic Bobbi remembers well, and that's when she vows she'll clue the girl in to this (and some other things) at the first available opportunity. 

 

***

 

As far as Kate’s concerned, she knows a lot about Clint.

She knows what his favorite food is. She knows about his family and about his history, even about the parts that he tends to keep locked up for the same reasons Kate’s keeps the less glamorous parts of her life under wraps. She even knows how he prefers to takes his coffee, how many spoonfuls of the grounds to dump in and how long to brew it for, things which might be easy to remember if it was anyone else but not if you were talking about Clint Barton.

But when she saw Bobbi walking towards them at the party, when she saw the way Clint’s face changed, something shifts in her stomach, a rock that turns into a boulder and makes her uneasy because she realizes something isn’t right. And sure, Clint had kissed her like it was no big deal, and she could tell it was genuine and not just a pretend ruse. But there was something Kate felt she was definitely missing, something that was definitely off, and she can’t for the life of her figure out what it is.

Maybe Clint hates Richard Marx, she tries to rationalize as they walk home from the party. His music choices are less than desirable, but it’s one of the things Kate can live with, especially because she still vows she’s going to get him off that pop kick once she has time. She racks her brain, trying to think of other things that could have bothered him enough to react, enough for his ex-wife to come to his rescue at a moment’s notice. The party was overcrowded, sure, but there was no one there Kate knew Clint had bad blood with. So maybe it’s just the fact that it was a really long day, and they were both sore and tired and cranky, and more susceptible to emotions than usual. 

“Hey, you wanna head home?” Clint asks suddenly when they reach the next block, almost at the subway. “I’ll catch up with you on the next train… Forgot some of my things back at Nat’s.”

Kate turns around, fixing him with a careful gaze. His face looks fine, a stoic mask with nothing trying to break through that she can see, and his body is otherwise still, no signs of fidgeting or anxiety that Kate’s come to recognize when he wants to get away without opening up.

“Sure,” she says after a moment, even though she has a feeling he’s not entirely okay. She knows better than to fight it though, and he seems competent enough at the moment for her to be okay with this and not worry he’s going to turn around and do something stupid like walk into traffic. She closes the distance between them with a hug. “Text me when you’re on your way back so I know you haven’t died or something, okay?”

A brief smile flashes across his face. “Will do,” he says with a wave before he turns away. Kate watches him go and sighs to herself, leaning against the building.

 

***

 

Bobbi doesn’t _plan_ to swing by Clint’s place after the party. What she planned was a nice little bath, a glass of wine, and then a good night’s sleep. But if she knows him at all, she knows that Clint’s probably bailing right this second, and she isn’t quite cruel enough to leave Kate to spend the night tossing and turning while she wonders what the fuck is wrong with her boyfriend. And if she’s wrong... well, she’s been a spy. She’ll figure out some way to talk herself out of that. 

But she’s not wrong. Kate opens the door wearing a t-shirt three sizes too large and bullseye-print pajama bottoms that clearly aren’t hers either, and Clint is indeed nowhere to be seen. 

“Clint’s not here,” she says and yawns. The room is illuminated only by the faint light of the TV, volume on low, and Lucky’s trotting over for the couch. However tired Kate might be, Bobbi’s reasonably sure she wasn’t going to go to sleep anytime soon. 

“I know,” Bobbi replies, while she bends down to scratch Lucky’s neck. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

Kate only looks more confused, but she points to the couch and leads the way, mutes the TV before she plops down onto the couch. “Alright then. What do you want to talk about?” 

Bobbi inclines her head and smiles. “The elephant in the room, obviously. You know, that purple, flighty one.” Okay, not her best pun, but in her defense, she’s _tired_. “He’s at Nat’s tonight, isn’t he?”

Kate glances down to her hands, still holding the remote control, and nods. “So it’s not the first time he’s done that, then?” 

“Far from it,” says Bobbi, remembering the feeling of being denied to help the person she loved when he obviously needed it, how hard it was not to take that personally the first few times it happened. “I think she just... makes him feel safe. And she doesn’t talk much, won’t ask questions, so that’s probably part of it too.” 

As if he senses Kate’s upset, Lucky has made his way back, butts his head against Kate’s hands until she gives in and starts absently patting his head. “So what’s the matter with that dumb old song?”

Bobbi hesitates to answer; it’s why she’s _here_ , but it’s also not really her story to tell. But Clint won’t tell it, not for a good long while, and Kate doesn’t deserve having to pry it out of him bit by painful bit. Easier for everyone involved if Bobbi just comes out with it now. “How much do you know about his childhood?” 

“Not much,” Kate confesses. “I mean, I know it already wasn’t fun before his parents died, and he told me how he lost his hearing the first time as a kid, but... well, you've been there, I suppose. He doesn’t like to talk about these things, and I don’t want to push.” 

Yes, Bobbi’s been there. Gaining this particular bit of information took her more than a year of marriage and two nights alone while he hid at Natasha’s, another spent arguing until the sun came up. “When he was... I don’t know, six or so, that song was playing on the radio while his father beat his mother half to death. The whole thing was quick, over in less than five minutes with her bleeding out on the ground and him stomping off. Both Clint and Barney were in the room when it happened. Clint held her hand while his brother called an ambulance.” 

“That’s... oh wow,” Kate breathes out, and the same sense of shock Bobbi felt when he told her this story is painted onto Kate’s features now. She remembers it like it was yesterday; he couldn’t look at her during, sat facing away, his voice carefully detached. 

There’s so much more Bobbi wants to tell her – more random, seemingly ordinary triggers, how to tell a nightmare from a _nightmare_ , and how there’s a difference between cuddling him and crowding him while he sleeps – but the kid’s face is white as a sheet, and they both need to get some rest before they have that conversation. 

“Look, just,” she says instead, “don’t take it personally, okay? It’s got nothing to do with you, that he can’t be here right now. It’s about him. Took me awhile to realize that, and even longer to accept it.” 

Kate nods slowly, and they rise almost simultaneously. A few steps towards the door and Kate stops, clears her throat. Just as uncomfortable asking for things as Clint is; the two are really quite a pair. 

“Tell me if it’s inappropriate, but... Can I ask for your number? Just, you know – “

Bobbi doesn’t let her fumble her way through the rest of that question. She motions for Kate to hand over her cell phone and puts her number in the contacts. “There. All done.”

They continue towards the door, and, following a sudden instinct, Bobbi hugs her for a brief moment before she slips out and leaves her to what’s most likely still going to be a sleepless night in front of the TV. 

 

***

 

Kate doesn’t say anything to Clint when he finally comes home, walking in the door at seven in the morning and going straight to the couch. She suspects that as much as he’d needed to not be here, he hadn’t really slept that well at Natasha‘s either, and so she ignores the sound of the door opening, gets up and makes coffee and pretends like nothing’s wrong, largely because she doesn’t really _know_ what to do. And there’s no easy way to bring up the whole thing anyway, especially without the caveat of, _well, your ex-wife stopped by and told me things about you that I should be aware of, so this is out in the open, now._

When he finally enters the kitchen three hours later, he still looks a little ragged but at least he also looks a little more rested. Kate hands him a mug of coffee as he sits down at the table and Clint smiles.

"Just the way I like it," he says, raising his eyebrows over his mug as he takes a drink. "Hey, you wanna go to the range later? I wanna try out my new bow."

"Sure," Kate says carefully, crossing her legs under the table. She can do with pretending nothing's wrong, playing the game of denial, but that doesn't mean she's not going to start watching him more closely. Something in Bobbi's voice, the way she had talked about his reaction last night, has made her wonder if that's not the only random thing haunting her partner.

"I was thinking actually we should take Lucky out first," Kate continues. "Before it rains." She's got no idea if it actually _will_ rain, but it's a distraction to keep them from sitting in what she fears will be awkward silence, and Clint nods in agreement. By the time they come back from their walk two hours later, whatever edges Clint has been keeping up for appearance's sake have more or less fallen off and he's mostly back to his old self, laughing and easygoing, making dumb jokes that she rolls her eyes at while whining about how much his feet hurt. Kate watches him take off his jacket and feels a little sad, for reasons she couldn't fully explain.

 

***

 

The range, it turns out, is good for Clint. They both tire themselves out considerably, which Kate’s not surprised about given their recent adventures, but it’s a good place for both of them to let off steam in a more comfortable way rather than avoiding their frustrations by choosing not to talk. They know each other well, but they’re not going to judge each other on how intensely they shoot.

“I’m out of here,” Kate says after she releases her last arrow, turning to sling her bow over her shoulder. “And I’m futzing starving.”

“Me, too.” Clint reaches over to pick up his quiver before walking forward and collecting his own arrows. “Wanna stop at that diner on the way home?”

“I could _inhale_ diner food,” Kate says, rummaging around in her bag as she waits for him to finish packing up. “I really hope there’s not a wait, because last time we barely got a booth.” She fishes a candy bar from one of the pockets and unwraps it unceremoniously, biting into it as she talks. 

Clint turns around and it’s subtle, barely noticeable, but Kate manages to catch it anyway, the way his eyes dart to her hand and then away, his shoulders tensing as if he’s about to take another shot, even though there’s no bow in his hand. It’s strange because as little as 24 hours ago, she wouldn’t have blinked twice at the reaction. Now though, it’s more than enough for Kate to realize something’s off, and her mind immediately flashes to the previous evening, the way he had responded similarly, though at the time she hadn’t been keen enough to pick up on it.

“Anyway, they better have put their cheese fries back on the menu,” Kate continues smoothly, ignoring the fact he’s conveniently turned away to zip his own bag. “I’ll meet you at the car.” She doesn’t wait for an answer and walks confidently out of the room; if nothing else, she knows at least she’s affording him a sense of trust, keeping him in denial about knowing anything is wrong. When she gets outside, she grabs her phone and pulls up Bobbi’s number, silently thanking the fact that she had thought to ask for it and laughing to herself when she thinks about how she figured she’d probably only have to use it sparingly.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Kate,” she says when Bobbi answers on the first ring. “I would’ve totally texted you, but – ”

“Clint?” Bobbi asks, her tone a mixture of curious and worried. Kate sighs in response.

“We were at the range just now. I mean, whatever, we both needed to let off some steam, y’know? But we’re starving. Well, I’m starving. I’m just assuming he is as well. Anyway, this sounds dumb, but I decided to eat this candy bar I’d brought, and I swear to god it was like someone flicked a switch when he saw me. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never eaten candy bars before.”

Bobbi’s silent for a long time, and Kate can almost imagine her face, the mental debate of whether or not to say anything. She suddenly feels a little embarrassed because it sucks, going behind her partner’s back like this, talking about him as if she’s trying to dig up information. On the other hand, this isn’t entirely normal and she needs to know, if only for her own sake, because she does care about him.

“When Clint was younger, him and his brother stole a candy bar from a convenience store,” Bobbi says when she finally speaks. “Silly crime, the kind of thing that you do when you’re growing up in the middle of nowhere. Not like they got in trouble, really. Not with the police, anyway. But the store owner found out and then told their dad, and he got mad. Barney took the hit for Clint, literally, because he knew how he would react. You must have picked that brand.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kate mutters. It’s not that she’s a stranger to anything in Clint’s past, but combined with last night’s story, she’s suddenly realizing just how much damage has probably been done to him over the years, and thinking about it makes her heart ache. “How could I have known that?”

“You couldn’t have,” Bobbi says simply. “And that’s the thing. You can’t know. I learned what I did after years of marriage, and fights, and days of teeth pulling because he doesn’t give up this stuff easily. He thinks it’s not worth telling anyone about, because he can handle it.”

“Yeah, well.” Kate frowns, glancing up as Clint starts to walk towards her. She pastes a big smile on her face, waving him over to the car. “I don’t buy that.”

“And I’m willing to help out,” Bobbi says. “You have my number now, if you need it.” She pauses. “I know it’s frustrating, but he should know that he doesn’t have to do this alone.”

 

***

 

Clint wasn’t born yesterday. No, really. Maybe he’s not the most sociable human being on the planet and he can be a little tone-deaf in the relationship department, as recent evidence shows, but he does pay attention where it matters. 

Which is how he knows something’s going on with with Kate since... well, ever since the party and his escape to Nat’s place. And yes, sure, he knows how that looks. But he also hoped Kate would understand the need to retreat, realize that it had nothing to do with her, wasn’t her _fault_. Apparently, though, she does not. 

“Hey,” he says, after they’re back from the diner, passing a bag of leftovers between them to feed to Lucky in turn. “Are you... I dunno, are you mad at me?” 

Her gaze snaps to his. “What? No. Why would I be mad?” 

Kate Bishop excels at a lot of things, but she can’t lie for shit. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Because of the other night. Are you mad I stayed with her, instead of coming home?” 

“I’m not,” she says, and oddly enough _that_ sounds like the truth. But there’s a hint of worry in the way she looks at him, and it’s almost worse than being lied to. “And I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re worried about. I trust you.” 

The last bit comes with a squint, the kind she does when she’s trying to pay extra special attention to someone’s reaction, and he’s not sure how to interpret it. Whatever else might be going on with her, though, he _is_ rather certain she doesn’t plan on telling him just yet. And given that this whole thing started because he wasn’t forthcoming about something that’s going on with him, he’s not going to poke her about it any further right now. 

“Good. I’m glad.” He leans over the back of the couch to upend the contents of the bag into Lucky’s bowl and then shifts on the couch, laying back, making room for her. “Come here, yeah?” 

She smiles and crawls into his arms, peers up at him with her head resting on his chest. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” 

“Of course I do, Hawkeye,” he says, kissing the top of her head and laughing when she swats at him.

“You are _such_ an idiot sometimes,” she complains, even as she burrows closer into him all the same. The _but you’re my idiot now_ isn’t said, but very much implied. 

 

***

 

Things level out a few days after that, though Clint still doesn’t tell Kate anything that’s going on. And Kate’s not surprised; she’d be more surprised if he did break down one night and admit something’s wrong. Clint’s a lot of things, but more than anything else, he’s stubborn, which is often why they end up butting heads in the first place.

“We need to talk,” she says one day while they’re making breakfast, deciding that she’s too annoyed to beat around the bush. And not that he’s done anything particularly terrible or had any other kinds of reactions lately, but the more she ruminates on the fact that there’s something clearly wrong that neither of them are addressing, the more frustrated she feels, knowing she has to be the one to bring it up.

“Okay?” Clint looks confused, switching on the coffee maker. “I mean, we are talking.”

Kate folds her arms. “We don’t keep secrets from each other, is what I mean.”

Clint stops with his hand halfway pulled back, and then meets her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks a little sharply. 

Kate sighs. “The song at the party. The candy bar at the range.”

“What the hell is your point?” Clint says, glowering. He turns away and Kate grabs his arm before he can completely avoid her.

“Oh, please,” she groans. “Honestly, Hawkeye, you are not the only person in this room who has had terrible life experiences that have left scars.”

Clint’s avoiding her gaze completely, looking down at the floor, at the wall, at anywhere but Kate, and that only infuriates her more. He's going to be cagey in every single way possible until she breaks down his walls, although she’s not entirely sure she wants to start an actual fight, which is what it could potentially escalate to if he keeps being difficult.

“So are you saying those things are unhealthy for me? That I can’t listen to a song or eat a candy bar?” he snaps, yanking his arm away. 

Kate follows him as he walks to the living room. “No,” she says, as Lucky trots behind her, clearly confused as to why his owners have stopped preparing his breakfast. “I’m saying that there are things that trigger you, Clint. For whatever reason.”

“Kate, I swear to god –”

“I talked to Bobbi,” she interrupts, because now that the conversation is actually happening, she feels like she can’t hold back. “Well, actually, she talked to me, but that doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, you…” He narrows his eyes, and it’s his turn to fold his arms, his forehead creasing considerably. “You talked to Bobbi? About me?”

“Yes,” Kate says bluntly. 

The lines around his face grow deeper. “So you talked _about_ me, about my personal life, but you didn’t talk _with_ me.”

“Oh, come on,” Kate throws back. “You are far from the easiest person to talk to.” She waves her hand around the room. “Case in point. We can’t even have a confrontation without you trying to run from it.”

Clint falls into silence and Kate does as well, and she’s not entirely sure what to do. It’s not her intention to break him down, but she also knows she can’t help him if he won’t at least admit he has issues.

“What did Bobbi tell you?” Clint asks gruffly after a long pause. 

Kate bites down on her lip. “Your…the hospital, with your mom. The convenience store. Just…what it means,” she finishes, seeing his eyes darken. Something cracks inside of her, a desperate urge to reach out and hug him, maybe kiss him, maybe even pull down his pants, if for no other reason than to apologize for everything that’s hurt him and say she’s sorry for it all. 

Clint stays unmoving, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Clint,” she tries when he still doesn’t speak after a few minutes. She reaches a hand forward, realizing her fingers are shaking. “Hawkeye.” 

There’s continued silence but he lets her touch him, wrap her arms around his waist, and she stays there with her head against his chest until she feels his muscles start to relax, enough to signal that he’s not so tense anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly when she pulls away. “For getting mad.”

Clint nods. “Me too,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse. 

Kate takes his hand and squeezes it. “So let’s talk, okay? Please?” She locks onto his gaze and gives a small smile; it feels like a struggle when her emotions are all over the place but she knows she succeeded in making it genuine because Clint smiles back.

“What do you want to know?” he asks a little tiredly. 

Kate motions towards the couch, tugging at his hand until he follows and sits down next to her. 

“Everything,” she says, before pausing. “Wait, no. That’s not fair. I don’t need to know everything. I just need to know enough. Like the things that are going to hurt you.”

Clint exhales loudly and slowly, leaning his head back against the couch. “My childhood was shit,” he says, closing his eyes. “Real shit. Not the kind of shit you hear in stories and stuff. The kind of shit where people almost die and you don’t sleep because you don’t know when someone is going to come and barge into your room in a drunken rage and choke you.”

Kate swallows hard. “I know a little bit about that kind of shit,” she offers tentatively, watching his face. She knows that he’s aware of her history, though she’s never openly referred to it before in conversation. Like his childhood, it was a demon that sat just out of reach, on the fringes of darkness, on the edge of her brain, threatening to trespass after years of being blocked out. 

Clint opens his eyes, turning his head slowly. “It was worse a few years ago,” he trades. “Panic attacks and all that. Bobbi, she…more or less saw the worst of it. Now I know some of the things that can trigger those memories, but not always. Sometimes they sneak up on me.”

“Like the party,” Kate confirms and Clint nods, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Like the party.” He pauses. “I mean, when am I ever gonna just take you aside in conversation and say, ‘hey, don’t play this futzing song, that’s what was on the radio when my mom was bleeding out?’”

Kate hears the hardness in his voice and moves closer, putting a hand on his arm. “You’re not,” she says a little sadly. “I don’t expect you to. Just like I don’t expect you to know when I freak out while we’re fighting.” She pauses to allow her words to sink in. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I mean, I don’t even want you to tell me everything. But if you tell me some things that you _do_ know, I can try to help. I want to help.”

Clint takes a breath, and Kate can feel the way his hands are starting to shake. It unnerves her, this kind of anxiousness; Kate can take Clint falling apart, but things like shaky hands, when he relies so much on being steady and competent even while injured, always freaks her out more than she’d ever admit.

“July,” he says when he speaks. “July, uh…that’s my birthday, and I kind of don’t like my birthday. It was never fun for me.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to; she gets what he means. Whether he was in a foster home or a real home or the circus, she’s pretty sure it wasn’t a day that was ever celebrated with much love. “And guys who slap their kids. Any kind of rough reaction with kids. Sometimes I lose myself. I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” Kate offers, keeping her voice soft. “Really. I mean, you’re a good shot, either way.”

Clint manages a smile. “I can try to think of more, but – ”

“No,” Kate says, shaking her head. “No, I don’t need you to do this now. But when you do think of stuff, or when we’re doing anything that could be bad for you, I need you to tell me. Okay? _We’re in this together,"_ she says as she meets his eyes. 

Clint nods. “Okay,” he says quietly. 

Kate puts her head on his shoulder, running her fingers over his skin. It’s not much, but at least it’s a start.

 

***

 

In the morning, Bobbi wakes to two text messages from Kate. _I might’ve done a thing, he knows_ and _I couldn’t not tell him, I’m sorry_. Fucking Hawkeyes.

It’s not like Bobbi didn’t expect them to talk about it eventually. In hindsight, she kinda hoped they would; she wanted to help, not snoop around. But she never got as far as thinking what would happen _after_ they’d talk. Namely: she didn’t get around to realizing Clint might be pissed, and he’d have every right to be. 

Because she’s a mature adult and faces her problems head on, Bobbi rubs the sleep out of her eyes, fishes her phone off the nightstand, and calls him. 

“Good morning,” she says when he picks up. “Would you like to yell at me right away, or would you prefer holding onto that until the next time we run into each other at work?” 

To his credit, he doesn’t yell yet, and he informs her he’ll be right over. Half an hour later, she’s shoving a cup of coffee at him while he plops onto her couch. 

“I just wanted to help you both, and I hope you know that,” she says and sits down next to him. 

“I do.” He’s gripping the mug with both hands, turning it around, not drinking yet. “Still wasn’t your call to make.” 

“Did you talk to her?” she asks and watches as he lowers his gaze to stare into his coffee, stalls by gulping down the whole mug practically in one go. 

Then he heaves a sigh, the kind that looks as if it hurts on the exhale. “We talked.”

All Bobbi needs to know about that conversation is hidden in the line of his body; she spent years trying to read his moods off the way he holds himself. Right now he’s uncomfortable about their conversation, never one to like having his issues dragged in the open, but otherwise he’s settled, relaxed. This might even be good for them. “Kate loves you, and she’s smart. She’d have figured it out on her own, sooner or later.” 

“Probably,” he allows. 

“God knows why she does, though,” Bobbi teases in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Love you, that is.” He glances at her from under his lashes, mouth curling up into a small smile, and she nudges him with her elbow. “No, seriously. Way out of your league. How did you manage that?” 

“I dunno. Still kinda expecting she’ll book it with my bow at some point and never look back.” He puts the mug on her coffee table and playfully returns the nudge. “Then again, I mean, I somehow convinced _you_ I was worth hanging out with for _years_.” 

Bobbi grins at him. He grins back. 

 

***

 

Kate breathes a sigh of relief when Clint returns later that morning; part of her had been worried that after Bobbi’s he would disappear completely and maybe refuse to come home at all. But he seems perfectly fine when he returns, waving off her silent questions in a way that Kate knows means he doesn’t want to talk about it. Which is okay, really. Between her and Bobbi, she figures he’s talked enough for both of them.

"I’m thinking we can take today off," she says when he gets out of the shower. It's a stupid comment, because their job doesn't really afford them days off – they're either saving the world or they're not, but that doesn't really come with a schedule – and Clint runs a hand through his hair.

"Nap first," he says, gesturing to the bed and Kate hesitates, but nods. He hadn't entirely slept well the night before, she could tell with the way he'd been tossing and turning, but she hadn't wanted to let on that she knew.

"I'll find those reruns of Dog Cops," she says with a wave, leaving him alone in the bedroom and flopping down on the couch. She could probably use a nap herself, all things considered; the past few days had been rougher on her psyche than she wanted to admit. "Goddamn, Clint Barton, I care about you too much," she mutters under her breath as she settles in, Lucky jumping up on cue and curling into her feet, warming her legs. She's just barely gotten herself settled and comfortable when her cell phone starts to buzz annoyingly, and Kate groans.

"Aw, phone, no," she grumbles, reaching for it and squinting at the text. 

America's sent her some truly fantastic photo of what she thinks might be a cross between a dinosaur and a dog, with the words "wish u were here" written underneath. It's not often that she gets annoyed about missing stuff with the Young Avengers now that she's fighting in the big leagues alongside Clint, but sometimes she does miss the days when she could just get up and stick an arrow in a random monster from outer space without anyone knowing.

Worth at least showing Clint, though, maybe he'd find it a little amusing. She gets up, intending to open the door to the bedroom quietly and is surprised to find him out of bed and staring out the window.

"Clint?" she asks puzzlingly. 

He flinches as he turns around." Couldn't sleep," is all he says and Kate slips the phone into her pocket, monster images suddenly vanishing from her mind.

"Why?" she asks carefully, trying to run through triggers in her mind. As far as she can tell, nothing is out of place, unless something Bobbi had said was the catalyst. He shakes his head.

"Dunno," he says a little hesitantly, and Kate would call him out on lying except for the fact that she can read the inflection in his voice pretty easily and she knows he's telling the truth. 

She swallows, sitting down on the bed." Hey, come here," she says, holding out her hand. He turns and she sees the worry lines on his face, the ones that she knows means he's not entirely himself. "Let's just sit here for awhile, okay?"

Clint nods and makes his way slowly to the bed, sitting down next to Kate. She grabs his hand and runs her fingers over his palm, smoothing out the callouses she knows so well, the ones that she knows she's got herself.

And maybe that's the thing, she realizes suddenly as they sit in silence. Maybe sometimes you just needed to realize when someone didn't want to talk, when they just needed someone to be there for them. Maybe someone never was there to begin with. It's not the first thing Kate would think of, normally she'd force him to talk and open up, but she's learning, and they're learning. Kate files this piece of information in the back of her head and when he finally gets up again after far too long, his face is still drawn but his eyes are clear.

"Thanks," he says and she smiles. 

"Any time, Hawkeye."

 

***

 

Clint knows she means it when Kate offers to be quiet with him. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t like silence, attempts to fill it whenever she encounters it, and he’s aware it’s a coping mechanism. His initial assessment of her having no baggage got revised pretty early on into their actual partnership, and the reason for that... well, it’s never been discussed or addressed, but yes, contrary to popular belief, he pays attention. He has no real idea what exactly happened or who did it – which is probably a good thing, because rarely has the urge to kill someone bloody ever been this strong – but he knows. From the very start, her jagged pieces have slotted right into his. It just took him a while to figure that out. Even so, the fact that she now knows so much more than she used to takes a little while to sink in, stop making him feel weirdly exposed. 

They’re holed up at his place maybe a week or two later, watching some period drama on TV, although neither of them are paying too much attention. Kate has gotten up and marched into the kitchen, intent on finding the box of Pringles she swears up and down she _totally_ bought at some point. Clint is still stretched out on the couch, glaring down Lucky, who’s looking longingly at the spot on Clint’s chest Kate momentarily vacated. 

“No luck, dude,” he warns, wagging his finger, and Lucky whines. “She’ll be back in a minute.” 

“What’re you grousing at the dog for?” Kate inquires from the kitchen. It’s accentuated by the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, and followed up by a mumbled curse. Hawkeyes do not give up easily. 

Clint doesn’t answer, just hauls himself up to watch her investigate places in the cupboards he didn’t even know _were_ doors; it’s far more interesting than the TV anyway. Her search lasts several more minutes, but then she hold up a Pringles box in victory, her head still hidden by the counter. 

“Got it,” Kate announces triumphantly, walking back to the sofa. Halfway there, her expression turns worried, and she speeds up her pace, diving past him for the remote control. “Don’t look,” she says. 

Obviously, pink elephant theory and all, that means he does turn, right in time to see a lady in complicated dress be pushed around and thrown to the ground by a guy in one of those gray wigs, screaming bloody murder at him. 

“I said don’t look,” Kate sighs, gently shoving Lucky out of the way so she can lie back down in the space between Clint and the back rest of the couch. Once there, she reaches up, putting her hands over his eyes, and kisses him. Then she settles into his side and hands him the remote to pick another program they can only half-watch as they’re busy with better things. 

The scene wasn’t anything that’d have upset him; his triggers are more specific than that. But as he holds her close, the comforting warm weight of her pressed against him, her eyes still flitting to his face to make sure he’s okay every once in a while, he finds he likes the fact that it’s something she’s now able to look out for. 

 

***

 

What started with a few teenage illegal aliens (the literal kind) on a bender ended in one hell of a mess. From what Bobbi could put together from increasingly chaotic comm chatter, one of the kids paged their father. Spaceships were entered into orbit, threats were made, and their last order before comms went out was to get all the civilians out of a now collapsed building in Queens. Who shot at whom, well, that’s for SHIELD mission reports and debriefing to decide. Right now, she’s too busy gathering all the members of their team she can find and shepherding them to safety. 

She finds Clint in the basement, lying in the rubble, pressing a hand to his stomach. His face is covered in scrapes and blooming bruises, and from what she can tell, the rest of him isn’t in much better shape. That’s not what worries, her, though; he’s wearing the kind of haunted expression that means he’s got bigger problems than his physical injuries. 

“You okay?” she asks, kneeling down next to him. 

Clint lowers his eyes, clears his throat. “No,” he says, low and hesitant, and that tone combined with his reaction – signaling _shame_ in glowing red letters – makes it obvious he doesn’t mean the fact that a building pretty much fell down on them. “Can you – “ His voice breaks, and Bobbi sort of wants to wince in sympathy. She doesn’t, though. He never did deal well with being pitied. “Can you get Kate?” 

The look he accompanies that with is almost apologetic; they both know, for years and years _she_ was the one he’d ask for, the one singularly equipped to wrangle him whenever he’s out of sorts. He probably thinks she’ll be offended or feel slighted. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Of course,” Bobbi says and smiles. She wipes a trickle of blood from his forehead with her thumb, relieved to see he’s got it together enough to roll his eyes at that, and stands. “I’ll send her right over.”


End file.
